Life After The Mrin
by Katherine-Magnolia
Summary: Sixteen years after the Choice of Cyradis. When Polgara calls because of a Mark on one of her children, everyone comes running, even those we thought gone forever... eventally. Oh yeah, warning: There'll be slash.
1. You Must Go Back

((So... this story is new and improved with all of the chapters en route to being changed quite drastically. I like it better this way though, a LOT better. Hopefully none of the people who liked the original so much will object to it, because I honestly do believe that it is better this way.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of David Eddings' ideas, characters, or places. Now the characters that I created all on my own, well... yeah, those ones don't quite belong to him so much as they belong to my little imagination

**Note:** _italics_ means thought-speak between sorcerers and the like

_:italics:_ means the Drasnian secret language

The ages are not spot on with how the book has them, but I wanted it this way so just call it slightly AU and we're all good.))

The space looked like a complete ordinary forest clearing that could have been found anywhere, with one exception. In the center stood a figure with straight, perfect white hair and a trimmed beard of the same color. Power, peace, and wisdom seemed to radiate from him much as heat and light did from the sun itself. In front of this powerful being, for he could not have been human despite his almost ordinary appearance, stood another who looked just like him. Only this one was definitely human and lacked the powerful aura of the first. "You summoned me, Master?" the human man said, bowing deeply. "Truly Aldur, I thought that I would never speak to you face-to-face again, not after all the time has passed since I left."

"Never could I forget thee, my beloved Disciple," the being, named the God Aldur by the old man, said with a gentle smile. "The world hast just been so busy since thy departure that I have been unable to find the time to visit with thee, no matter that I desired it. But there is no other route to be taken but the one that hath been presented to me by mine brothers. Belmakor, I know that thee took thyself away from the world for a reason, but thou hath no other choice than to return to it now."

"What?" Belmakor, one of the seven legendary Disciples of Aldur exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Master, please, no! I do not want to return to that place; there is too much pain, too much hatred, too many people who care for naught but themselves. There cannot possibly be a reason that it should be I who goes instead of someone else. I took myself out of the world, Master, and I rather prefer that it stays this way. No disrespect meant, of course, but I am _dead_ after all, and have been this way for well over five thousand years."

Aldur sighed, his gentle smile fading away. "Belmakor, must thou make this so difficult for me? Thou knowest that I would never ask something of thee unless it was of the utmost necessity that it be done as I say. Thy convictions against the world are not incorrect, but not all are as thou claims. Good still prevails in the world, and all is moving towards the final battle between Light and Dark. Believe my words, Belmakor, thou shall take part in the events leading to the battle."

"Belgarath will be there," Belmakor protested, pain evident in his voice. "I cannot simply reappear to him, it would be far too hard of a blow! They all believe me dead, as is the truth, and you are asking me to go back there for a battle that will decide the fate of a world that is no longer mine. Master, forgive my disrespect once again, but I do not think that this thing you speak of should be done."

"Thou shall not appear to them in the form that they knowest thou for," Aldur explained patiently. "And the world shall be thine once more, my son, if thou will just believe and do as I tell thee to. Even when thy task is complete, thou shalt be allowed to remain in the world, to reclaim the spot that thou abandoned far too soon for the like of any. Belmakor, thou shall go back in the form of a wolf pup, cared for by Poledra in the form of the wolf that belongs to her by right. If the time is ever right, then thou will reveal thyself."

Belmakor simply stared at Aldur, shocked into silence for what was probably the first time ever. "Yes Master," he said at last, his voice choked with emotion. He could not believe that he was being offered this chance to help make the world right, to fix the mistake he had made by taking himself out of it simply because he was tired of how everything was. Belgarath had gone through so much more, and still he remained. "When do I go?"

Aldur raised his hand and pressed it against his disciple's forehead. "Right now, my son."


	2. A White Lock

((**Note:** _italics_ means thought-speak between sorcerers and the like _:italics:_ means the Drasnian secret language

Ahh yes, here's where things really start to change. The twins are introduced, and, well, there's hints that Polgara is not pleased after all with her marriage to Durnik. You don't like it, then don't read it. And this takes place after the final book in the Mallorean. Like stated in the prologue, ages won't be strictly as they should be. Sorry for all you sticklers out there, but I find it easier to write this way then go and figure everything out until it's exactly as I want it.))

Polgara sighed as she looked through the small window at the snowy landscape outside. She could just make out the large hill in the distance, the same one that Eriond had sledded down multiple times when he was a little boy in her care. Now there were two distant shapes hurtling down it, and there was no doubt in the sorceress's mind that those two shapes were her very own twin children. They were using those sleds that Durnik had built for them without even thinking of what would happen when they used them. _Bloody man didn't even remember to build the fence like I told him to!_ the dark-haired woman thought angrily, her eyes a flashing gray-blue as she pulled on her cloak and strode through the door. She didn't need to watch as it happened, she already knew that both of her children had sledded directly into the creek.

"Durnik!" Polgara shouted, the anger that she was feeling quite evident in her voice. When there was no reply she began muttering, lifting up the hem of her dress as she made her way to the workshop that the blacksmith had constructed for himself. Sure enough he was inside, tinkering with what looked a lot like a new sort of fishing rod instead of the wheels he had said he would be making. Seeing that did absolutely nothing to cool Polgara's rapidly rising temper. "Durnik!" This time, he wheeled around, a guilty look forming on his plain face for being caught.

"Oh, hello Pol," Durnik said. "I was just working on this, I thought that if I added something to hold the string on then I could-"

"I do not want to hear about your latest theory on how you can catch more fish, Durnik," Polgara said in an icy voice, her arms crossed across her chest. "Guess where your children are right now? And _why_ they are there." She did not even give the man a chance to reply before going on. "They sled directly into the creek, again! That is the third time this week. I have told you time and time again to remake the fence that you made for Eriond so that they stop falling in there. But no, something else always catches your eye, something more important than your children possibly drowning if one of them cracks their head upon a rock while they fall." Her eyes flashed dangerously as Durnik flinched back, his look becoming more guilty with each spoken word. "Now, go and retrieve the twins and bring them to me so that they can get a hot bath. Then I want you to make that fence, _no_ excuses." The white lock in her hair seemed to glow as she turned and walked off, still muttering. Once, she had found Durnik's absent-mindedness to be endearing, but that had not lasted very long. Especially not once the twins were born and she was left to raise them on her own.

It was true that Polgara was glad to have her own children to raise at long last. She had dedicated practically her entire life to nothing but raising the heirs of the Rivan Throne until it could be reclaimed, never once saying a word against it. And now that she had twins of her own, all she wanted was someone who would be willing to help her instead of tinkering with a fishing rod that would only be tossed aside come spring! Polgara's eyes slowly changed from mostly blue with hints of gray to almost completely gray with only the slightest bits of blue here and there. They were that color far too often now, as her mother was known to say whenever she made one of her monthly visits.

Polgara's thoughts were pulled away from that unpleasant subject by the sound of the door opening and closing. "You had better not track water in on my floor!" she called, knowing that the twins might just do that. She heard a hurried set of whispers, ended when one of the twins appeared in the doorway where the bathing tub was located. "I see that you are going to go first yet again, my dear Asrana." Her eyes had shifted back to a deep, rich blue at the sight of her daughter, whom was showing promise of one day being as gorgeous as her namesake. "Hop in and wash up then, we do not want your brother to freeze to death while he waits."

"Yes mother,"Asrana said in her light, airy voice as she promptly hopped into the steaming, soapy water. Her night black locks were damp even before she ducked her head beneath the surface of the water, hazel eyes twinkling with a mixture of guilt and excitement. Polgara had the suspicison that her fifteen-year-old daughter had spent far too much time with Beldaran, Ce'Nedra's eldest daughter. That twinkle put to mind the fiery-haired young woman. "You will never guess who we saw today, before we went sledding."

"You are probably right," Polgara said simply, blinking as she saw what looked a lot like a lock of snow-white hair amidst her daughter's hair. "Asrana, did you get into the dye again?" She reached out and tapped the lock, her eyes widening in surprise at the jolt that ran up through her fingers as she touched it. She jerked her hand back, staring in disbelief at her daughter. "Who did you see today? No hemming around it now, tell me, Asrana." Her voice sounded very level and calm, butAsrana flinched back. She knew her mother's moods very well, and her mood right now was on the edge of a thunderstorm.

"It was only Eriond," the girl said, continuing with her washing. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get out and away from the impending storm. "He smiled at me and touched my forehead, saying that this had been long coming, even if you had chosen to look away and ignore it." Seeing the sparks in Polgara's eyes she was quick to add, "Those were his words, not mine! There was nothing I could do, and he did nothing wrong. All he did was touch my forehead and he is a God, the God of the world. Can't exactly tell him 'sorry, I don't think I can talk to you today'."

Polgara's eyes were closed, her hands clenched tightly on the edge of the bathtub. She remained silent as Asrana, finished with her bath, began to edge herself out of the tub. "Did he do anything to your brother?"

Asranashook her head, wrapping up in a thick towel before starting for the door. Her mother was extremely displeased about the white lock in her hair, though the girl wasn't sure why. It made her look even more like her mother, something whichAsrana strove for. When the others visited some of the stories they related were about how her mother's beauty was still legendary. And she had read her grandfather's and then her mother's book, they spoke of it as well.Asrana wanted nothing more in the world than to be like her mother. "Ontrose looked a little dissapointed when all Eriond said to him was that he was going to be just what you wished for him, even though I could not be that. Whatever _that_ means."

"It means that I am going to have a long talk with Eriond, that is what it means," Polgara said through gritted teeth. "He has no right to do as he has, none at all. You are _my_ daughter and you deserve a real life!"

"Are you mad at Eriond?"Asrana asked, pausing in the doorway. "You can't exactly be that, you know, he is the God of the whole world."

The look that was fixed onAsrana made her swallow hard. "I'm not in the best of moods right now, Asrana, so do not try to tell me what I can and cannot do. I raised Eriond when he was little and I can be mad at him if I want to. And right now I want to be very, very mad."

"Does this mean we're not in trouble for sledding into the creek?"

"Go get dressed and tell your brother that his bath is ready," Polgara said steadily, her tone not matching her stormy eyes as she stood up and strode past her wide-eyed daughter. "You are still in trouble for sledding into the creek, Eriond just happens to be in more. Dress quickly, Asrana, we are going for a visit."

"But it's getting dark outside!"Asrana protested. Polgara turned and leveled her cold gaze upon her daughter. "I'll be back in a moment." As the young woman hurried away she could not help but think to herself. _It's a good thing that Kamion, Killane, and Polanna are all off visiting with Zakath and Cyradis in Mallorea. Otherwise they might be catching this as well!_ The thought that perhaps something else was happening to her two younger brothers and little sister never once crossed her mind. And, in the state that she was in, it didn't brush through Polgara's either.

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Belgarath had his nose in yet another dusty old scroll, the stew that the twins had brought over for him and Poledra growing cold on the cluttered dining table. He was so close to figuring out the wind and, if not for Poledra, he would have forgotten about eating completely. For her part, Poledra took it all very well. She simply sat in the corner of the tower that she had claimed for herself, knitting. It was something she had taken it up to occupy her time on the evenings she did not spend flying about as a snowy owl.

The tawny-haired woman looked up from her current project, it looked like it might become a blanket, and sighed. "Old Wolf, that stew has been sitting there for long enough to ice over. One thinks that you are perhaps growing dull in your old age at last. One's daughter is quite correct about you."

"I'll eat when I find a good stopping point," Belgarath muttered, waving one of his hands absently. "You know how long I spent pouring over the Mrin Codex, and the Darine. I have earned the right to study the wind. And have a good tankard of ale now and again. What did you do with the keg that the twins brought over?"

Poledra sniffed. "I threw it out."

"You did wh-"

_Father!_

The old man winced, looking over at his golden-eyed wife and then towards the stairs that led to the door. "I think we have company, Poledra," he said. "Unannounced and not very pleasant company at that, my favorite kind." Then he sent his thoughts out, _What is so important, Pol? Can't it wait a few days?_ "I still want my ale, I'll probably want it even more soon."

_No, it cannot._ Belgarath winced again as he heard the stone that was his tower's door roll aside, followed by two sets of feet marching up the steps. A moment later two dark heads emerged, looking identical but for the eyes, size, and... the old man's eyes narrowed. Since when didAsrana have a white lock like her mother? "Do you see now, old wolf, why it could not wait!" Polgara demanded, pointing at Asrana's hair. "She has been marked! This was not supposed to happen, father, there was no sign that it would come about. My children were supposed to be normal. They were supposed to lead normal lives, just like everyone else."

"Breathe," Poledra remarked from her corner, golden eyes slightly amused. "Your face is starting to turn red, daughter, and one does not think it would be wise of you to pass out in front of youreldest pup. Come to me, Asrana, and let your mother and grandfather speak." She set aside her knitting and held out her arms, embracingAsrana as the girl rushed into her arms. "My, my," Poledra murmured, touching the lock in her granddaughter's dark hair. "That is a surprise."

"It's not my fault, grandmother,"Asrana insisted, her hazel eyes filling with tears. She had received quite the tongue lashing from her mother on the ride over, and Polgara was famous world over for those. "A-a-all I did was t-talk to him. I couldn't have known he would do this."

"I know. Now, why don't you tell me how the cottage is? Simply ignore them, your mother always had a temper on her." Soon enough,Asrana was smiling as she regaled her grandmother will tales of what she and Ontrose did during the days, and of all that she was learning from the books that Belgarath brought her. She was quite used to her mother yelling at someone else, it happened with her and father all the time lately.

"Eriond did this," Polgara raged, her eyes flashing. The last time she could remember being this angry had been when Garion, Silk, and Belgarath had gone off to fight Torak and left nothing but a note. Only that time she had been in her own rooms, able to break whatever she wanted. If she started breaking things in here then her mother could get upset. Poledra's calm was hard to break, but it could be done. "He did this to myAsrana with his own hand. Touched her forehead and that lock appeared. I thought she had tried to dye her hair like mine again, until I touched it. Then I realized what it truly was." Her eyes narrowed and her tone became demanding. "Father, make it go away."

Belgarath raised an eyebrow. "Polgara, be reasonable. Something like this cannot be made to go away by anyone, not even the Gods. She was meant to be marked from birth, even if it didn't show itself until Eriond touched her. It's a gift, Pol, not the curse that you are naming it.Asrana would be happy about it if you hadn't practically lashed the skin from her bones with that razor of a tongue of yours. Haven't you noticed how she watches whenever one of us does something? She idolizes every last thing about you, Polgara, and that includes the Will and Word. Ontrose doesn't want it." He snorted. "He'd probably be happy if he turned out just like that husband of yours. Kamionis just like him, idolizing everything Ontrose does. Killane wants to be a knight like Mandorallen, which I will _never_ understand.But Asrana's different, she wouldn't be happy if she was just like everyone else." His brow furrowed and he tapped a finger against his desk. "For that matter, Polanna seems to be like that as well."

Polgara shook her head, the lock in her hair seeming to flare. She _wanted_ to be angry about this and everyone else be damned, she would be angry until she decided that she didn't want to be anymore! "If you can't make it go away," she said, her voice betraying only a little of the anger she felt, "Then I will find Eriond and make him take it away."

"You're being very unreasonable about this, Pol," Belgarath informed her. "Just take some time to think before you do anything rash. You have a history for doing rash things."

"I knew you would be no help, father," Polgara said icily. "So I will have to take care of this myself." In truth, she knew that her father was right, but she would rather bite off her own tongue than admit it. She also wanted to at least be able to say that she had tried to make Asrana's life as normal as anyone else's. As normal as all of her children's would be.


	3. On Riva

((**Note:** _italics_ means thought-speech between sorcerers, _:italitcs:_ means the Drasnian secret language))

The eighteen-year-old Crown Prince of Riva, a sandy-haired young man with serious blue eyes named Geran, was laughing like a child as he rolled about in the snow with his favorite companion, Wolf. Wolf was usually even more serious than Geran, to those who understood him, but he was being as puppyish as Geran was childish. The two tumbled in a mass of hair, flesh, and fur down a short hill, Wolf letting out a happy yip as he wiggled free and bounded a few steps away. "What has gotten into you lately, Wolf?" Geran asked, in what he called Wolfish. It was the only real way to communicate with his companion.

Wolf settled back onto his haunches and regarded Geran with serious golden eyes, all traces of playfulness gone. "One feels differently," he said. "As though something is about to happen that one will take part in. Something important."

"Like what?" Geran's serious eyes sparkled with curiousity, his wet and matted hair making him look younger. Which he would have scoffed at. The young man firmly believed that he looked older than he was no matter what he was doing. And no matter how many times anyone told him otherwise.

The large wolf shrugged, a human gesture he had picked up after spending so much time among them. "One is not sure," Wolf said truthfully, for lying was not something that any self-respecting wolf would even consider. That was a human thing, best left to humans and their devices. "But one knows that it is going to happen soon, and that it will change many things." Geran frowned, not liking the way Wolf had said that last part. he was about to say so when Wolf's ears shot up, his tongue lolling out in his version of a wolfy grin. "Your sire is coming."

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps reached Geran's ears not long after Wolf's statement and the tall, broad-shouldered figure of his father, King Belgarion of Riva and Overlord of the West, appeared. _I'll look like that one day soon,_ Geran told himself, as he thought at least six times every day. Mother said not to worry, that he would fill in his height soon enough, but the young Rivan could not help but despair that he would remain forever tall and gangly as a sapling. He could hardly even manage to lift a broadsword or an axe! Instead, he made do with the longbow and sabre that had been given to him as a gift when he turned fourteen by King Hettar of the Algars. The last time that Hettar had visited, he had practiced with Geran and complimented the young man on his skill. King Anheg of the Chereks did not seem so impressed, voicing his opinion that a Crown Prince of Riva should learn how to use a real blade.

"Hello father," Geran called as soon as he climbed to his feet, brushing the majority of snow off of himself. "Please don't tell me that I have to come in the rest of the day and listen to reports again. It is so boring to listen to those puffed up men go on and on about nothing that matters. Like the Toldendran Ambassador. Father, I do not care if I _am_ Tolnedran, that man looks and acts remarkably like a toad."

Garion grinned and shook his head. "Geran, you have been listening to me too much," he said, reaching out to clap his son on the shoulder. "Don't let your mother hear you talking like that. She may agree, but she'll never admit it to you."

"I know better than to start something up with mother," Geran said ruefully, remembering the last time he had made what the little Rivan Queen deemed an inappropriate comment. "Especially when she's pregnant."

"Smart lad."

"So what did you come out here for, father?" Geran asked, knowing that his father would not have come outside purely for the fresh air. Not at this time of day, there were far too many things for the King of Riva to do. One of the worst parts about being Crown Prince was having to learn all those things. Or perhaps it was taking over the day to day dealings when his father had to go somewhere to take care of something. He hadn't been allowed to do that until only two years ago, something he had not argued. It wasn't something known to many people, but Geran did not have any desire to become King.

"I'm being called away, Geran," Garion said, his blue eyes taking on the serious light that was so often in his son's. "Which means that you are going to have to sit through a lot of boring reports."

Geran's face fell. "What for this time?" he demanded, not even trying to hide the dissapointment and anger in his voice. "Not only will you miss Ildera's birthday, but you will be missing Beldaran's again! You are always called away just as it nears this time of year, I swear to Belar it is truth. The only king absent from any of our celebrations seems to be you." He was acting childish, he knew that, but he didn't care. True, Geran would have gotten over his father missing his birthday, but not over him missing those of his sister's. Beldaran was going to be turning sixteen! If the young woman had not raised such a fuss over the matter that it had made Ce'Nedra's tempers look calm, then she would already be betrothed.

"Geran, you know I have no choice in these matters," Garion said firmly, the regret in his voice so faint that Geran almost did not notice it. "And you should really start thinking more of Riva and the other kingdoms than of your birthday. You are eighteen years old, a man by anyone's standards. Someone has to look after your mother and sisters while I am away. Continue to act like this and I may have to ask someone else to fill the shoes you are supposed to when I leave the Isle. As Crown Prince, I expect better of you."

The young man lowered his eyes. "Yes father."

"And I will not miss their birthdays. She and Beldaran will be coming along with me."

"What! They get to go with you somewhere that is likely more interesting than this rock and I have -"

"Geran!" Garion said sharply, cutting his son off. "You are acting like a spoiled princeling, stop it right now or I will find a way to get your Aunt Polgara here."

Geran struggled to keep the bitterness out of his tone, his cheeks heating from the look Wolf was giving him. "Why are they going with you, if I may ask, your Majesty?"

"Aunt Pol requested that they come when she told me that I needed to come visit her," Garion said simply. "So they are coming with me, and you are staying here in my place. You know all that needs to be done, and your seal will be accepted as mine. Don't let anything that I wouldn't sign go through." With that said, the Rivan King turned and strode back off in the direction he had come from.

"One believes that your sire is right," Wolf remarked as he walked up beside Geran. "Acting like a foolish pup does no good for the pack when one is expected to be the leader someday. You need to learn how to lead in the absence of your sire."

"Hush," Geran said sullenly, not wanting to discuss it with the wolf, who seemed to have far too good a grasp on the matter.

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Ildera looked up from her packing, a mischeivous smile flitting across her freckled face. Unlike all of her four sisters, the only physical feature she had gotten from her mother were those freckles. Otherwise, she looked completely like an Algar. Her eyes were so dark a brown as to be nearly black and her hair, which she kept cropped to just above her ears, was blacker than a raven's wing. Her mother threw a temper each and every time that she got her hair cut back to this length, but Ildera had learned how to ignore those. "We get to see Asrana again," she said to the red-haired girl across from her. "Is that why you are so eager to go with father, despite the cold?"

Emerald green eyes flashed as the other girl looked up, her creamy face flushing. "Asrana is our cousin," Beldaran said primly. "Of course I wish to see her again. Along with Aunt Polgara and her other children..." The fire in her emerald eyes had faded to a more dreamy one that caused her sister to snicker and toss one of her tunics at her.

"She's not really our cousin, you know," Ildera remarked as she caught the tunic Beldaran whipped back at her. They could have left their packing to the servants like most royal children did, but their father insisted that they pack on their own when they were going to visit a relation who was not royalty. Which meant that Ildera could get away with wearing more tunics and breeches than normal. "There are about three thousand years or so in there thinning the bloodline out. We may have a drop," here the raven-haired girl held up two fingers that were not even a centimeter apart, "of blood in common with her. We're closer to the Dryads than her!"

"Let's not talk about this now, Ildera," Beldaran said quietly, folding another dress carefully. "Please? One of the servants might overhear and then word will be carried to mother. You remember how she was after Asrana's last visit, don't you? I don't want to have to listen to a speech before we leave, and you know that she'd get father to side with her again. So just... pack your things and let's leave. I cannot wait to be back amidst the trees and off of this Isle."

Despite the fact that she really didn't want to, Ildera let the matter lie. For now. But there were weeks of traveling ahead...


	4. Starting to the Vale

((**Note:** _italics_ means thought-speech between sorcerers, _:italitcs:_ means the Drasnian secret language

Also, this story is quite a bit different than the original version was. But I, for one, like it more this way. If you like the original one better then you have my apologies. But I'm not changing it back.

As for the location at this particular point of the story. The Arendish forest, going down to cut across to Prolgu and take underground ways through the mountains. Don't care if they should be able to, I'm making it so.))

Prince Kheldar, more commonly known as Silk, muttered and burrowed even deeper into the thick fur cloak that he had wrapped about himself. His head was wrapped as well, the only thing that protruded was his long, pointed nose. "I still don't understand why these things always have to happen when it's winter," he lamented aloud. "Once, just once, can we be forced to go somewhere when it's bright and sunny out? Polgara does it on purpose, she _knows_ how much I hate the cold."

The man nearest to him, a mountain of a man with red hair and a beard to match, laughed and clapped the small, rat-faced man on the shoulder. "The cold is good for your health, Silk," he rumbled. "You're just upset because Polgara calls and you come running as fast as the rest of us."

"Of course he does," a smiling woman replied from up ahead, turning around to flash her dimples at the two men. Liselle, or Velvet as some still called her, was still considered to be the most beautiful woman in Drasnia. Her figure was the same as it had been when she was twenty, despite the two children that she had born since then. "My Lord Barak, no one with any sort of sense would ignore a summons from Lady Polgara. At least, not if they wanted to keep their head." She gave a laugh and trilled her fingers at her sullen husband. "Don't sulk so, Kheldar, it isn't as though Polgara isn't worth it." A different expression passed across her face and she tilted her head a little to one side. "I wonder if she asked Cyradis to come..."

If anyone could have seen Silk's face, then they would have seen that his expression had changed too. He knew why Liselle was asking after Cyradis, even if none of the others did. "I don't think that Hettar will be coming," he said, ignoring Liselle's question. "He is the King of Algaria now, and that could present problems. As could Adara and all of the children that they are rumored to have."

"Come now, Silk," Barak said, "You cannot honestly think that? If Polgara so much as requested Hettar to come to her house, then he would in a moment. Kings, Queens, and Emperors jump if she snaps her fingers. Even if she says she just wants to lead as normal a life as she can with her children, everyone else will always see her as the powerful woman that she is." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Even Zakath will, after all the time that he spent around her. As would your rat-faced brother, Silk, despite being King of the Murgos."

"True enough, Barak," a young man who was riding on the other side of Silk remarked thoughtfully. "Even people who despise her might just come if she put enough force behind her words." The young man resembled Silk completely, with only one exception, and that was his eyes, which were the same soft brown as his mother's. He tugged at his pointed nose, something he always did while thinking. Several of the girls in the spy university back in Boktor called it a cute habit, which did not bother the young man at all.

"Your Khesan catches on quick," Barak remarked. "Has he ever even met Polgara before?"

"Regretably no," Khesan said, seeming honestly dissapointed. "Mother has told me about her, almost as much as she has told me about the Empress of Mallorea, and I cannot wait to finally meet her and her children. Along with all of the other people who were in my bedtime stories." A sly grin passed across the young man's rat-life face. "And those of their children that they decide to bring along. We're all growing up and, if stories tell true, some of them might be quite pretty."

"Khesan!" Liselle said, trying not to laugh.

"What mother?" the Drasnian objected, his face twisting in an attempt of honest innocence. "I was just making a simple remark."

"He's already corrupt," Barak remarked with a shake of his head. "He truly is your son, Silk."

"Except for the fact that he actually enjoys the snow," Silk muttered, a shudder running through his body. "Completely unnatural."

"Oh get over it all ready, father," Khesan said with a wave of his hand.

"I will get over it when I'm warm again. And after we meet up with Mandorallen and Lelldorin and see exactly how much like them their children are. If Lelldorin brings Areina then it won't be so bad, that girl actually seems to have a brain inside her head. Now Mandorallen... when I last saw his son, Maneik, he was hitting a tree with a stick, claiming he could knock it over. Maybe one of his other children got the brains he never had."

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"Where be our friends?" the large, armor-clad man asked as he watched the horizon. "I could hath sworn that I saw them over the last rise."

"You didn't 'thee' or 'thou' once there, Mandorallen," the small, red-haired man beside him remarked. "I'm proud of you, we might just breed that archaic speech right out of you. And I saw them as well, so they will be along shortly." Lelldorin grinned impetiously at the larger man, practically bouncing in his saddle. "Though I must admit that I am very eager for them to get here. Not once have I journeyed with them without some sort of excitement. Arendia has become boorish for battle lately, and they will find us a way to some excitement." He grinned hopefully, any spark of intelligence that might have lurked in his mind completely extinguished.

"I do hope so, my friend," Mandorallen agreed. "Thy exuberence is most becoming, and refreshing." He clapped the Asturian Arend on his shoulder before raising his voice. "Ciolia! Areina! Our friends doth come, thou shall come back and join with us now."

A hundred or so yards away, in the middle of a snowy field, were two figures on horseback. One was obviously female, despite being clad in clothes that resembled Lelldorin's. Her bright red-gold hair and twinkling green eyes marked her for Lelldorin's daughter, Ariena. She had a longbow strapped across her back, and it was said that she was following her father's footsteps in the matter of shooting a bow. It was also said that she was uncommonly clever for an Arend of any sort. She was the first to come galloping back, laughing as she reined in beside her father. "We were having fun, father," she informed him, motioning at the other young person. "Ciolia was trying to teach me how to joust, a terribly boorish thing by my way of thinking. Just charge at someone else with a long piece of wood and see who strikes closer. I'd rather shoot a bow any day of the week, or even use a sword!"

"Thou hath no taste, Ariena," a hollow-sounding voice remarked. It came from Ciolia, who was clad in a lighter version of Mandorallen's armor. "Jousting is a more noble sport than shooting a bow hath ever been." Ariena and Ciolia were of an age, both being just past sixteen, and had known each other for the majority of their lives.

Areina shrugged good-naturedly, taking no offense at the statement. She truly was an unnatural seeming Arend. "At least I can talk without peppering my speech with flowery phrases. Ah, but look, here comes the reason why we were called away. About time, too, I was getting ready to go hunt down a rabbit for some fun."

"Welcome, my friends!" Mandorallen cried, doing his best to embrace each and every one despite the fact that he was clad in armor and they all on horseback. Tears stood out in his eyes, his voice was choked with emotion. "It hath been far, far too long, and all of thee have children! Growing into fine young men and women if mine eye is correct."

Silk rolled his eyes and caught his son's attention with a flick of his fingers. _:Now you will understand why Mandorallen grates on my nerves so. With all his thee and thouing it is a wonder that he ever gets anything all the way out without passing out. Watch now, this must be his son clad so in armor. He is a spitting image of his father.:_ Aloud, he said, "Good to see you too, Mandorallen and Lelldorin. Ah, if memory serves, then the red-haired imp is Ariena. And this one all suited in armor would be your son, Maneik, correct?"

Ariena's smile widened and she burst out laughing, though her father and Mandorallen wore confused looks. The Mimbre knight opened his mouth to speak, but Ciolia placed a hand on his arm and he quieted. "Prince Kheldar, if I am not mistaken? Thou were just speaking to thy son in that secret language of thine's country, so thou cannot be anyone else. Mandorallen is my father, but I -" With this the figure removed the helmet sitting atop their head, a mass of chestnut brown curls spilling out. "I am a female, Prince Kheldar, and my name is Ciolia."

Liselle smirked at her flushed husband, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder. "Looks as though this young Arend has pulled a trick on you, Kheldar," she remarked, her voice dripping with laughter. "Well done indeed, Ciolia, I must say that, from what I can see of you, you are turning into quite the young woman. Even if you must speak like that."

Ciolia blushed, looking at the group with pale green eyes through lowered lashes. "Thank you, Liselle," she murmured. "Though you of all people know I don't speak like that all of the time." She smiled at the shocked looks coming at her from Barak, Silk, and Khesan. "What? Did Liselle not tell you? Mandorallen is my adopted father, he has raised me since I was ten. I can thee and thou you all until the sun sets, and I could knock any of you off of a horse as well as any young man my age."

Mandorallen smiled proudly at this, more tears shining in his eyes. "It is mine pride and joy that thou calls me 'father'," he said. "She doth be as talented as any boy, and I should not think to trade her for all the stars in the night sky."

"Flowery," Barak snorted, patting his horse on the neck. "But can we be getting along? We can still put several leagues behind us before we have to stop and make camp. And I for once want to get to Prolgu and those warm tunnels as soon as possible." He grinned wickedly at Silk as the rat-faced man glared at him, muttering about the unnaturalness of traveling underground.

"Thy father doth not like to travel underground?" Ciola asked Khesan as she reined her horse in beside his, lapsing back into the speech typical of the Mimbrate Arends. "I hath never done it, but nor hath I heard anyone speak ill of it."

"You've never heard my father," Khesan replied, looking a little dumbstruck as he stared at Ciolia. She was definitely different than any of the buxom blondes back home, and not in a way that seemed bad to his eyes. "He's hated going underground for a very long time now, he's afraid that everything will just collapse and bury him. It got even worse after Relg, the Ulgo, carried him through solid rock to save him from the mad Murgo King, Taur Urgas."

"I did hear stories about that," Ciola admitted, her pale eyes shining. "It would be a great and noble adventure to journey as did our parents. It doth be sad that they did destroy all of the evil before mine time. And yours, of course, dear Khesan." At this she reached over to pat the young man's arm, not noticing how he shivered slightly at her touch. "For I am sure that one such as thee would charge into battle most bravely."

"Hey Silk," Barak remarked, nudging the rat-faced man and pointing over his shoulder with a grin. "Take a look at who Khesan's talking to and getting all puffed up for."

Silk glared at the big man before turning in his saddle to see what Barak was talking about. A sharp gasp gave away exactly what he thought of Khesan at that moment. "Oh no," he said matter-of-factly. "My son cannot possibly be _flirting_ with that girl! She is no doubt as emtpy-headed as her father, no matter that she is not of his blood! Even a Drasnian would lose their mind if they spent six of so years as an adopted child of a Mimbre Arend!"

"Calm yourself, Kheldar," Liselle said sharply, "Khesan can talk with whomever he pleases, and it would not do to offend Ciolia or Mandorallen by telling him that he cannot speak with her. It is completely harmless, and I, for one, am not about to tell our son that he cannot speak with someone merely because his father thinks that they will be a bad influence on them."

"Do you see what I deal with?" Silk lamented to Barak, ignoring the big man's muffled laughs. "Turncoat." Liselle grinned smugly at the little man before falling back to speak with Ariena and Lelldorin. "It's going to be a long trip to the Vale, my big friend, a long trip indeed."

((Alright... feedback highly appreciated. Next chapter will deal with meeting up with Relg, Taiba, Hettar, and finally making it to the Vale.))


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